The first time I ever thought about writing was when my father told me, “...just write it down.” Until then, books were something I would read, hold in my hand and stare at in awe. I would be amazed at what a story could make me feel and experience. I so badly wanted to be part of some stories that I would imagine myself as one of the characters and react in my own way to situations. Soon, I was creating my own characters, my own scenarios, my own world and it would all just make me so elated.
One day, I was having a conversation with my father when he said, “If you have an idea, then just write it down.” My mind was blown! I could do that? I could write? Create something similar to the stories I enjoyed? It was wonderful, that epiphany! However, it took me five years before I was able to convince myself that I could create a story too. Numerous ideas went through my head and I kept dismissing them—sometimes lazy, sometimes too afraid. Very rarely, I would develop them and just let them be. Soon, they disappeared like fairy dust.
During my hostel days, my friends found a rough draft of a story I had forgotten that I’d started scribbling down. It was actually just a character description, but it still got them curious. Their curiosity drove me to write a short story (more of an elaborate scene than a story) and showed it to them. To my surprise, one of them cried. She kept rereading the story and crying. I was astonished. I couldn’t believe that something I’d written could move someone. I wasn’t sure what to make of it either. Even then, I didn’t continue writing regularly but went ahead fawning over other people’s writing and wonder how amazing it was that they were able to write.
I, however, couldn’t deny that there was a spark in me and I channelled it into storytelling. I would tell my friends stories that I’d made up thoroughly enjoying their reactions. There was one in particular that was a favourite. I kept developing this story until I felt I could no longer contain it in me. I just had to pen it down, and that is how I finally started writing.
Years later, I have not been able to finish my first book, but I’ve written and directed a school play, several short stories and started drafting two novels. I get stuck often and I know I have a long way to go and lots to learn, but thank goodness I started. I can’t help but think, what if my father had not told me to write?
Would I have discovered it myself or would I have never thought of the possibility? The latter option is quite scary. What if I had never realised I could write? That I could do something that brings me so much joy? Each time such thoughts make their way to my mind, I’m filled with gratitude for that moment with my father that served to start the domino effect that became my writing.
Many of you may not need that moment, but some do. In fact you may know that one person who badly needs it right now. So, hoping this leads to your domino effect—Just Write.
About the Author
Christy is a student, part-time writer, and a full-time Wannabe. She devours books and binges shows.